Maya’s head snapped up. “No!”
It was the first word she had spoken since coming home.
Felix lowered the phone, but his expression remained hard with fear. “Then you have to tell us, sweetheart.”
His anger was not directed at her, yet I could see that it frightened her. I should have softened my voice. I should have held her and asked her to begin wherever she could.
Instead, every old incident crowded into my mind—the pulled braid, the whispered insults, the mornings she had begged not to go to school. I imagined her surrounded in a bathroom while someone cut away the thing she loved most.
“Maya,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady, “we need names.”
Her eyes filled again.
Then she reached slowly into the front pocket of her backpack and removed a folded, crumpled sheet of paper.
PART THREE — FOUR WORDS
My hands were trembling when I accepted the note.
